


redamancy

by fairyslush



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, a lot of pretentious poetic writing, au - 25 lives, hence the major character death, i may have sobbed writing this so you all have to sob to to make me happy thank you, people have to die to be reincarnated susan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-30 20:06:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyslush/pseuds/fairyslush
Summary: but i don't blame you. i'll never burn as brilliantly as you.it is only fair that i should be the one to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimesuntil i find the one where you'll return to me.this is a story of how seongwoo looks for minhyun in all of their shared tomorrows.(inspired by 25 lives)





	redamancy

**Author's Note:**

> i would just like to put here that most of this work is inspired by this lovely [gif](pic.twitter.com/SZUVcf1dy6) here. if you got here from @kngdaniels_, i'm so sorry for screaming about this every second of the day. 25 lives is my favorite prose of all time, and i hope i did it justice.
> 
> many thanks to my friends who i've screamed at as i had a breakdown over this entire au. you all know who you are. thank you for putting up with me, and i hope to meet all of you in all the other lifetimes we'll get to have.

the night sky is dark, but it glimmers with the brightest of stars.   
  
it's a habit of his— _stargazing_ —and tonight is not an exception. seongwoo's eyes reflect the majesty of the sky above, his lips parting every once in a while to recite a recognizable formation's name from the tome inscribed in his memory. minhyun lies on his lap, gazing at a different constellation; at the careful arrangement of little moles that dot seongwoo's cheek.  
  
seongwoo doesn't notice this, not until much later, but his ears could rival the silk that clothe his lover's back the moment he does. minhyun simply grins at his embarrassment—the tight-lipped grin that makes his eyes disappear into little slits, makes his nose scrunch up in the way seongwoo adores, and it does nothing to ease the redness and heat forming on his cheeks.   
  
seongwoo is an advisor, and minhyun is the emperor that he is tasked to serve, the emperor he's devoted his life to in more ways than one. but tonight, like in the nights that came before, their labels are nothing but labels, their titles are nothing but titles. here, they are just two young boys, lying down on the grass to gaze at the beauty of the starlit skies.   
  
tonight, he is ong seongwoo, a man in love with hwang minhyun. tonight, he is ong seongwoo, a man hwang minhyun loves.   
  
tomorrow, minhyun is to wed the princess of their neighboring kingdom and seongwoo is to travel overseas for his scholarly studies.   
  
"are you _sad_?" minhyun asks, his finger connecting the dainty marks that could deem seongwoo's visage as a galaxy. "you seem sad, my love."   
  
"of _course_ i am sad," seongwoo parrots, his fingers absent-mindedly threading into the darkness of minhyun's hair. "this is the end for us, isn't it?"   
  
"only if you _think_ it to be." minhyun rises from seongwoo's lap, gracefully arranging his clothes as he sits beside his advisor, leaning his head upon the crook of his shoulder before going on with his litany. "in _fact_ , i'd rather consider this as a new beginning."   
  
seongwoo turns and looks at his dearest, a brow quirked in inquisition. "that's a rather optimistic take on it."   
  
"well i'd rather be an optimist than _sulk_ , dear." minhyun chuckles. seongwoo thinks that of everything minhyun does, this would be what he will miss the most.  
  
silence, the comfortable kind, engulfs the distance between them. minhyun lets his hand travel atop seongwoo's own, and seongwoo gives it a squeeze as he laces their fingers together. for a while, the only sounds that could be heard are the soft beats of their troubled hearts, pattering along with the cacophony of the crickets that sing for their final night.   
  
"i'm going to miss you," seongwoo is the one who breaks the silence, his tone grave and dismal. "i'm already missing you, if i were being honest."  
  
minhyun removes himself from seongwoo's side in favor of taking his face in his soft hands. "you're always honest, darling. but right now, you are _wrong_."  
  
confusion paints seongwoo's features, and minhyun takes it as his cue to continue his speech.   
  
"i am not missing from you," he gives his lover's face a little squeeze, giggling a bit as seongwoo's features scrunch into something more amusing. "i am _here_. always am. always will be."   
  
"but—"   
  
minhyun cuts him off with an abrupt kiss. the usual sweetness is still there, but seongwoo mostly tastes longing, hurt, _desperation_ —every emotion minhyun refuses to show on his beautiful face.   
  
"we'll be together," minhyun volunteers, the surety in his voice marking it as half a promise. "maybe not in this life, but i'm sure it won't be our last."  
  
"minhyun—"  
  
" _please_."  
  
a single tear falls from the emperor's hues, and seongwoo's heart breaks as it slides from his tear duct to his cheek. this time, it is him who pulls minhyun in for another liplock, his hands shaking as they hold minhyun's shoulders, his fingers clutching tight at the expensive silk. this, seongwoo thinks, is the closest they will ever be before the inevitable arrives.   
  
"look for me in our next life, seongwoo," minhyun pleads, his lips shivering against seongwoo's tan skin. "don't _stop_ —" a choked sob. "—don't stop until you find me."  
  
overhead, the a star gleams its brightest. a supernova explodes from light years away.    
  
back on earth, seongwoo nods his promise, kissing minhyun with the passion of a thousand dying suns. 

 

* * *

 

he's a painter, one of the best in his generation. seongwoo paints his dreamlike portraits in watercolor and ink, and newspersons praise his hands for their exemplary use of brush and technique. his exhibits are always filled to capacity, the halls bursting with whispers from critics and admirers, their eyes glued to the images that hang from the walls.   
  
this month's exhibit is a series: a triptych done on canvas, the image of a beautiful boy etched unto its rough surface.   
  
"what inspired you to make this?" a reporter asks, his recorder shoved a bit too close for seongwoo's comfort. "or rather, _who_?"   
  
a usual question; many magazines have previously inquired about the identity of the boy in seongwoo's portraits, though his answers have been labeled as vague or confusing at best. but it's not his fault. he does not have the answer they want. the boy is someone he has never seen, never heard, never touched, and never met.   
  
not in this _lifetime_ , at the very least.   
  
"it's someone who _haunts_ me in my dreams," seongwoo answers, his business smile ever present on his lips. the reporter thinks it's a lie, but seongwoo knows the truth isn't the answer they wanted, isn't the answer they would _understand_.  
  
"does he have a name?" comes the follow-up, and the artist fails in stopping the moniker that rolls of his tongue.  
  
" _hwang minhyun._ "  
  
the very next day, around twenty men claiming to be _the_ hwang minhyun line up in front of seongwoo's vintage townhouse, all asking for a quick audience. they do not know that the house is empty, devoid of the artist that made such a viral impact in their generation's culture industry. seongwoo has fled the country in the night, knowing all too well that the boy he seeks does not live in this plane of existence. 

 

* * *

 

"again, _again_!" minhyun exclaims, his voice filled with childish jove. seongwoo grins with an enthusiasm that mirrors his, his tubby hands taking another rock from the playground and pretending to swallow it whole, all for the other's amusement. minhyun's eyes widen before squinting in glee, and his laughter is music to the street rat's youthful ears.   
  
seongwoo is seven and so is minhyun, though their quality of life could never be more different. seongwoo is born to the poverty of the streets, and minhyun is dressed in clothes that could pay-off half a year of seongwoo's meals. but the playground is where they can stand as _equals_ , where minhyun can laugh at seongwoo's tricks as much as his little lungs allow him to, where seongwoo can hold minhyun's hand and have no adults tell him it was wrong and improper.   
  
seongwoo is seven, but he is old enough to remember. he also knows that minhyun doesn't, so he keeps the boy entertained with stories of a prince, a pauper, and their everlasting bond.   
  
"that's just like us, isn't it?" minhyun comments, smiling as he looks at seongwoo behind the sand tower he had made. "we're gonna be together _forever_ , then!"   
  
"mhm!" seongwoo hums, unable to refuse, not unlike the first lifetime they shared. "maybe even after forever!"   
  
minhyun's lips mimic a large 'o' as he gasps in surprise.  
  
"wow! what's after forever, seongwoo?"   
  
_longing_ , seongwoo thinks, but he is seven and he has yet to know what the word means.  
  
so, he shrugs, bottom lip jutted out, hands spread downwards instead of answering. "i don't know. let's go find out, then!"   
  
minhyun nods with all the enthusiasm he can muster, and raises his pinky to have seongwoo swear it as an oath. "that's a promise, okay?"   
  
"okay," seongwoo beams, linking his pinky with the other's own. "it's a promise."  
  
but promises, seongwoo learns, are things that can be _broken_. minhyun's father comes with a most disapproving glare, and he is forced off of the darling boy with a grip that could break a seven year old's bones. tears sting his brown hues as he watches minhyun kick and punch and struggle against the large man's grasp, but he is helpless against the force of an adult.   
  
"don't _ever_ show your face in our neighborhood again." the man curses, but his words are garbled by minhyun's high-pitched screams.    
  
seongwoo is seven, too young to know what heartbreak means. but here he is, lying in a dirty heap on the sandbox, the definition of _heartbroken._

 

* * *

 

it's a prestigious university, made obvious by the eggshell blue that paint the walls and the golden frames of its many floor-to-ceiling windows. the institution is known for grooming fine young men into their peaks, and its halls can only be entered by those who are _gifted_ enough, or rich enough to fool people into believing they are.   
  
seongwoo likes to think that he is _both_ , not either. he comes from wealth, the old kind, and his way of thought is far from what is set as the above average. this is much too obvious in this little hobby of his, where he interrupts half of a three hour lesson, endlessly debating their aging professor about concepts that seem too otherworldly to even speak of. his classmates are thankful, most of the time, as they would rather listen to their handsome colleague prattle on about derrida and foucault that pretend to listen to the senile instructor.   
  
today's topic, so it seems, is the _afterlife,_ and seongwoo is more than willing to take over the entirety of the class with his musings.   
  
"who are we to say that the afterlife exists?" he motions, with condescension, his chin resting atop his palm as he speaks. "no one has _ever_ returned to tell the tale, right?"  
  
"well, mr. ong, i'd have you know that there have been written accounts of people—"   
  
"and we _believe_ them?" seongwoo tilts his head to the side in mocking inquisition. "just like that?"   
  
"if only you would let me finish—"   
  
"it's no _use,_ professor," a new voice volunteers, and it's a tone that sends goosebumps popping on seongwoo's skin. "we all know our _dearest_ classmate enjoys diverting the class' agenda with his nonsense. maybe we're better off _ignoring_ him so we could move on to more interesting postulates from schrodinger?"   
  
the voice comes from hwang minhyun, class beadle, running for student council president. the smile he throws at seongwoo's direction is soft, but even he could sense the malice that lies underneath those squinted. it's a smile he's seen in many lifetimes, after all, and it's not the first time it's directed to him.   
  
"that seems like a good idea mr. hwang. thank y—"   
  
"i _refuse_ to accept that," seongwoo banters, turning around to face the ethereal male, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back on his table. "what do you think about the discourse on the afterlife, mr. hwang?"   
  
seongwoo makes sure he says his name with enough spite, but it mostly comes off as _suggestive_.   
  
"hm," minhyun hums, lacing his fingers into a makeshift surface his chin could rest on. "i _think_ it's a case of relative belief, and it's unfair that you shoot down its existence just because you haven't seen or experienced it. not everything has to be proven with empirical evidence, you know."   
  
"empirical _evidence_ , huh?" seongwoo quirks his brow, basking in the irony of the other's words. his existence is enough empirical evidence of the existence (non-existence?) of the afterlife, but he tries not to let it show. "are you asking me to _die_ for you? is that your _kink_ , hwang minhyun?"   
  
minhyun scoffs and rolls his eyes at the inappropriate quip, but seongwoo claims his victory from the red that taints his ears.   
  
what was supposed to be a one time thing becomes an almost usual; seongwoo continues his hobby of nitpicking the poor professor's syllabi with half-nonsense, and minhyun rebuts each of his points with carefully constructed arguments. somewhere along the way, their exchange ceases from being malevolent, beginning to feel more friendly, more enjoyable. but none of it prepared them for the sudden turn to the lascivious, where their heated words turn into heady kisses, with bruises and marks that would last for days.   
  
this is how mock court ends one afternoon; with minhyun pinned to the wall of the third floor's toilet, tie askew and pants discarded, his long legs wrapped around seongwoo's waist. seongwoo nips and bites at the milky skin of his exposed neck, his hand busy with stroking both of their cocks to climax.   
  
"god— _seongwoo_ —" minhyun stutters, dizzy at the increasing friction, eyelashes fluttering as stars begin to cloud his vision. "you're so—"  
  
seongwoo swallows his words in a wet, open-mouthed kiss. minhyun's moan contains zero complaints.  
  
"stop talking." he groans, his breath hot against minhyun's sweat-slick skin. "your voice is enough to tip me over, _minhyunnie_."  
  
minhyun's grin is predatory, his fingers grabbing a fistful of seongwoo's hair as he pulls him close, his lips tickling the lobe of his ear.  
  
" _never._ we'll get ruined together, ong."  
  
they _do._  
  
it takes a few more pumps and dirty talk for both their dicks to spill in seongwoo's hand, thick cum leaking and dripping to the cubicle's tiled floor. minhyun's nails draw maps on seongwoo's back as he rides out his climax, and seongwoo groans a multitude of expletives in his ear. their breath comes in staggered puffs as they calm down from the orgasmic high, their bodies slack against each other, tired and spent but ultimately sated.   
  
"is that your _kink,_ hwang minhyun?" seongwoo breaks the silence, as he is wont to do. "is philosophy some sort of f _oreplay_ to you?"   
  
"maybe," minhyun _purrs_ , and his unabashed confession makes seongwoo gulp to settle his arousal. "why else do i put up with your bullshit, ong seongwoo?" 

 

* * *

 

_december 25, XXXX_

winter is unforgiving this year, especially for those who are alone on christmas.   
  
seongwoo sits on the only park bench that is not covered by absurd amounts of snow, thanking the gods that his pants are warm enough to keep his butt from freezing over. it is noon, but the sky is dark enough for the park's attendants to decide that it is a good idea to turn the fairy lights on. seongwoo squints at the display, finding no appeal at the novelty.   
  
in the silence of muted carols and the occasional sneezing vagrant, seongwoo lets his train of thought wander.  
  
he thinks—no, _knows_ —that in another time, there is someone who held his hand through the frigid weather. in another time, there is someone who made him stay under the sheets, seeking body warmth, someone who mixed hot cocoa with peppermint canes in the way he likes the most. in another time, there is someone who dragged him out for morning service, before pulling him to christmas brunch, ordering tree-shaped pancakes with crispy bacon and eggs done over-easy.   
  
but it is not in this lifetime. in this lifetime, seongwoo is _alone_ , and the ones he wakes up next to leave post-it-notes of apologies by his bedside. in this lifetime, he has his glove for the weather, has his own hand to stir the lukewarm chocolate that will sit, ignored, on his counter for days. in this lifetime, morning service is a jog around the park, and brunch is too pretentious to be taken alone, especially on christmas mornings.   
  
he doesn't mind. not really. he knows that this is not _their_ last.  
  
but there are times where he does fear the impossible, where his chase is put on hold by a celestial joke, where this game of hide-and-seek is set on a premature stop because of the unlikely, the _inevitable_. it is in these times that seongwoo burrows further underneath his coat, shivering less from the snow and more from the cold grasp of frigid loneliness. cold wetness trips upon his cheeks, and he knows well that it's not because of the snow or the fairylights he's been glaring at for the past several minutes. 

 

* * *

   
the train is uncharacteristically late today, and seongwoo curses his monday morning luck.   
  
security guards roam around to pass out excuse notes to those who would need it, a usual scene in the land that banked on manners. seongwoo has to remind himself of that fact, though, as the temptation to take out his anger on an unsuspecting guard is at a record high. he's _impatient_ —a weird quirk as he's supposed to be used to waiting—but he believes that there's a huge part of his soul that has gotten so focused on waiting, and _waiting, and waiting_ that patience in the terms of the mundane comes off as an impossibility to his character.   
  
he taps his foot to the rumble of the station tile, tutting as he checks his heirloom watch. ten minutes late.   
  
" _finally_ ," he mutters, ever dramatic, and he lifts his head up so he could glare at any slowpokes who dare delay his route.   
  
it is there that he sees _him_. minhyun remains as ethereal as ever, dressed in a three-piece suit that looked too good to be in a subway. he's carrying a briefcase in his right, a sleek file folder tucked in his free arm as he struts out of the coach like the entire space was his runway. seongwoo, again, forgets that he lives in the land of manners and gapes, openly, his jaw hanging slack in pure surprise.  
  
he would've called out to him. but reality comes as a harsh shove to his back, and he realizes that he isn't the only human running late for work on a monday morning. frazzled and apologetic, seongwoo forces his eyes away from the vision, careful not to trip as he finally sets foot inside the airconditioned coach.   
  
he doesn't see minhyun look back, head tilted forty-five degrees to the side, curious and confused.   
  
he never sees him again— _not in this lifetime at least_ —after. 

 

* * *

 

it's not the _first_ , and he knows that it's definitely not the last, but the discourse doesn't make this encounter hurt any less.   
  
he _abhors_ these kinds of lifetimes. tonight, he faces minhyun as a spy from the opposing side of the spectrum, his vision met with nothing but stone-cold ruthlessness. minhyun has a gun aimed at his pretty head, and seongwoo, though inwardly hesitant, has his own weapon doing the exact same.   
  
"nothing personal, _dear,_ " minhyun sends, his smile devoid of any familiar warmth. "just doing my job, as you are doing yours."   
  
seongwoo thinks it's _unfair_ —to have his memories intact through all their shared lives while minhyun gets the better end of the deal with blissful ignorance. he is all too sure that his ethereal better feels none of the guilt he does, none of the pain attached to knowing your victim, none of the suffering that comes with being cursed to never forget. but he's also quite content; a little part of him believes that he deserves this cruel form of a celestial antic, and that he'd rather take it all than have minhyun feel even the slightest sliver of discomfort.  
  
he's an idiot, really, an idiot in _love_ —and has been for more than a couple of centuries.   
  
two gunshots disturb the silence of the seoul city midnight, one blast going off a millisecond after the other. seongwoo falls in a lifeless heap to the cold pavement, a bullet smack in the middle of his skull. crimson blood pools on the cement, but minhyun takes no more than three seconds to watch it flow, before tucking his gun in its hidden holster.  
  
minhyun furrows his brows at the single tear that fell from his left eye, wondering where the stabbing pain in his chest came from. 

 

* * *

  
this feels too good, too good to be real.  
  
the lush bed creaks underneath the weight of their bodies, bare and naked save for the sheen of sweat and slick. seongwoo's fingers clench and strain at the ribbons that bind his wrists, his hands desperate for leverage, for something to hold, something to grip. minhyun dances into him, thrusting against his need in time with the strokes on his cock, and seongwoo can swear that he could see an infinite galaxy beneath his eyelids.   
  
"minhyun— _please—_ " he begs, tears pricking his tearducts, his nerves awash with equal amounts of pleasure and pain. "i want to— _ah_!"   
  
minhyun pulls out of him as a sort of unwarranted punishment, his shaft replaced by slender fingers that will never be enough. seongwoo grits his teeth at the smug smile his ethereal better gives, but his mouth falls slack once minhyun's fingers abuse that bundle of nerves against his aching walls.   
  
"please _what?_ " minhyun teases, curling his digit inside the already writhing male, obviously enjoying his wanton need. "tell me what you want, _seongwoo-yah_."   
  
"i-i want to— _ah_ ," seongwoo speaks in between stuttered breaths, his brain trapped in a haze of frenzied lust. "i want to _touch_ you, minhyunni—eugh—please..."  
  
"touch me?" minhyun lilts his head in that ever familiar forty-five degree angle, and seongwoo fights the urge to scream. " _where?_ "   
  
" _everywhere_ ," seongwoo slurs, using the rest of his strength to struggle against the silk wrapped around his wrists. "untie me, please."  
  
there is a pause in minhyun's ministrations, probably for thought (seongwoo _wishes_ it's for thought). seongwoo is as close as he could be to fucking himself against minhyun's steady fingers, but he feels the knot loosen against his limbs, and he lets his arms relax as the fall on the soft mattress.  
  
_just for a few seconds_ , he thinks, but minhyun doesn't give him a few seconds.  
  
minhyun pulls his fingers out from his needy hole, and seongwoo barely has the time to whine before he is harshly pulled by his chin for an open mouthed kiss. minhyun bites and pulls hard enough that seongwoo is sure his lips will be bruised in the morning, but it is an effective distraction from the rough hands that grip his thighs and guide his way down minhyun's erection. seongwoo cries out at the foreign depth, but all pain is soon washed off by mounds of pleasure, a good part of it thanks to the butterfly kisses that minhyun peppers along his neck and jaw.   
  
"god— _fuck_ —minhyun—" seongwoo moans as minhyun quickens his pace, and he reaches behind the ethereal male to draw constellations against his back. "i'm so close—"  
  
"me _too_ ," minhyun groans, right against his ear, and the smooth baritone almost tips seongwoo over the edge. for a moment, seongwoo wonders if there will be a lifetime where he isn't weak to the man's dulcet tones. "you feel so good— _fuck_ —how do you know how to make me feel so good?"   
  
_i've been doing so for centuries_ , seongwoo almost blurts in his moment of ecstasy, but his orgasm hits before he could even say a word. minhyun comes a few moments after, obvious from the warmth that begins to fill seongwoo's insides, and seongwoo chases his high with a sloppy osculation. they stay like that for a few more moments, breaths ragged as they exchange heady kisses, until their nerves come down from the universe above and back into the mattress below.   
  
"let's do this again sometime," for once, it is minhyun who breaks the silence, as seongwoo is too tired, too spent to speak. "you're the _best_ i've had in ages."  
  
seongwoo tries not to think of the others who came before him, focusing instead on the smell of sex on minhyun's skin. " _sure_. i'll call you, minhyun."   
  
he wakes up sore and with a massive headache, the king-sized bed empty save for his own form. a business card sits on his bedside table, and seongwoo groans as he plucks it out, squinting to read the elegant scrawl written on the heavy cardboard stock.   


> _call me -  h.m._

  
he remembers last night, the words he gave after their heated rendezvous. _i'll call you._  
  
for the first time in centuries, seongwoo finally finds it in himself to lie. 

 

* * *

 

it's _tuesday_ when he sees him, right by the bench in front of the stall where the kind auntie always makes sure to give him an extra helping of rice cakes. he almost misses him, really, as half his face is blocked by a too-tall plant, and seongwoo almost trips in the middle of his squinting.   
  
there are times when this happens; when fate pulls their strings so they would meet in the most unexpected of times, in the most unseeming of moments. as always, seongwoo has enough courage to say hi, because it's the only way to have their story start, the only way he could confirm that this entire thing is still part of the celestial game the stars wanted him to play.   
  
but he sees _him_ , and he freezes in his tracks, his hand raised in an unfinished wave.   
  
"do you know him?" jonghyun inquires, looking at the halted man with a quirked brow.   
  
"no," minhyun answers with a shake of his head, but there's a tug in his chest that makes him feel like he's lying. "i've never seen him."   
  
the words spear through seongwoo's heart, and the pain forces him to move and apologize.   
  
there are times when this happens; when fate pulls their strings so they would meet in the most unexpected times, in the most unseeming of moments. but in this lifetime, seongwoo retreats and disappears into the background, because he will never be one to interfere on minhyun's happiness, even at the cost of his own, well-deserved jove. 

 

* * *

 

minhyun is _everywhere_ in this lifetime, and seongwoo doesn't know if he wants to rejoice or to complain.   
  
he's in high school, in a performing arts academy no less, and he isn't sure if he went through by his own volition or by forceful celestial machinations. but he doesn't care, because that is not the point. the point is in this lifetime, hwang minhyun is an _idol_ , and turning the tv off whenever nu'est comes on screen only does so much to calm his temperamental psyche.   
  
_it's another one of those_ , he presumes, one of those lifetimes where minhyun is so _near_ yet so far, where he's everywhere and nowhere at once. seongwoo thinks that he should be used to the pain of impossibility by now, having lived through it in the many centuries of this fucked up game of fates. but he isn't. a weight continues to crush his dear heart as he watches his ever-dearest from a far seat in one of the group's concerts, and he chokes back any bitter thoughts every time minhyun opens his mouth to sing.   
  
_from the moon, to the stars, while lingering in the universe—we got to know each other._  
  
seongwoo leaves the venue before minhyun's number could even end. the next day, all news sites are filled with the viral video of nuest's minhyun crying in the middle of his solo.   
  
fast forward to five years later, his company of eight months decides that it is a good idea to put him in a survival show for aspiring idols.  
  
when seongwoo sees minhyun again, he is not an idol but a trainee like himself. it's _heartbreaking_ , because by a loose analogy, being forced to reboot is almost akin to taking part in a celestial game of hide-and-seek in seongwoo's dictionary. his heart is heavy when minhyun passes him without sparing a single glance, but he quickly scolds himself for sulking.  
  
after all, he is the one who promised to do all of the looking.   
  
so it comes as a surprise when minhyun chooses him for his _justice league_ , a name seongwoo finds ever so endearing. seongwoo feels a flicker of hope kindle in his heart, but he extinguishes the tiny flame before it could turn into a raging inferno that would just melt into searing disappointment. in this lifetime, seongwoo decides that he'll enjoy their moments to the fullest, so he wills himself to forget, even if it's a curse in his circumstance.  
  
"are you awake?"   
  
seongwoo startles at the ever familiar voice, and his eyes fly open to the sight of minhyun peeking from the bunk below his.   
  
"yeah, _yeah,_ " he half-groans, voice thick from the first tendrils of slumber. he sees apology in minhyun's features, but he waves it off with a casual gesture. "need anything?"   
  
they're same-aged friends, just like in every lifetime they shared, so it is not unusual that minhyun finds comfort in his companionship. the competition is more brutal that he expected, and even seasoned debutantes find it hard to cope under the stress of practice and the pressure of eyes tailing their every move. seongwoo is as much of a mental case as minhyun, but what he finds surprising is how the boy chooses to seek his presence over the members of his own group. jonghyun shares the same room as they do as part of their team for _never_  and he knows _—_ other lifetimes included _—_ that the two are more than close enough to share worries in the dead of night.   
  
but minhyun is here by his bedside, tiptoing so his face can be seen by seongwoo at the top bunk, and seongwoo loses any further capability to reason.  
  
"can't sleep," comes minhyun's quick reply, sent with a small pout that has all their shared kisses replaying in seongwoo's mind. "you think i can fit up there?"   
  
wordlessly, seongwoo scoots to the edge of his bed, ignoring the little voice in his head that keeps screaming about the dangers of having two people on a top bunk. minhyun grins, quickly climbing over to take the space seongwoo made for him, chuckling a bit at the sudden lack of distance between their lithe forms.   
  
"you comfy?" seongwoo asks, trying his hardest to keep his tone casual despite the erratic beats of his tell-tale heart.  
  
minhyun moves and adjusts his posture so they both have ample space to breathe, but it ends up with them facing each other in the tiny bunk, their noses merely centimeters away. minhyun doesn't seem to mind, at least, so seongwoo forces himself to do the same.   
  
"i hope we debut together," minhyun mutters, making seongwoo blink in surprise. minhyun's hues are locked upon his, and he reads nothing but sincerity in those dark pools. "i want to debut with my team too, but aside from them, i _really_ want to debut with you, seongwoo-yah."   
  
seongwoo feels like crying at the sudden confession, but he chokes back his tears in favor of a nod and a chuckle.   
  
"me too," he banters, at the same time minhyun's eyes flutter to a close. "let's debut together, minhyunnie." 

 

* * *

 

the lights are bright, like the future he desperately longs to achieve. the roster for the show's newest boy group is more than half-filled, and seongwoo fidgets from where he stood as he waits, not for his name to be called, but for everything to be over.   
  
minhyun has already been called, the ethereal lead vocal taking the ninth rank in the eleven person roster. seongwoo remembers how his heart leapt for joy when the name was announced, his own smile rivaling minhyun's own with the levels of glee it radiated. but the glee has long transformed into a deep sense of worry, and seongwoo gulps in an effort to keep his dinner of rice rolls and juice down his throat and in his stomach, schooling his expression to that of faux calm.   
  
unfortunately, it doesn't work. everyone and their mother in south korea knows he looks incredibly nauseated.   
  
he's not expecting _much_ —the fact that he has come this far is already a blessing beyond anything he could wish for—but there's a little voice in his heart that desperately wants his debut with hwang minhyun. it's a selfish wish, really, as he partly needs it for the comfort of being close, but he's already wasted ten years of this lifetime as a trainee, chasing after dreams that have flown so, _so_ close to his fingertips. this may be his last chance, and all the gods know that he'd rather take it with his dearest standing by his side.   
  
it might have been an illusion of the light, but he sees minhyun staring right where he stood, offering a little cheer in the form of a fist pump. seongwoo's lungs are too busy processing oxygen for his brain to even register the act, but he manages the smallest of nods, before bracing himself for the inevitable.   
  
"the one on the fifth rank is someone who scored an _a_ in the evaluations."   
  
seongwoo swallows down any sort of overecstatic hope, but his fingers are crossed in his subconscious.   
  
"with a total of 984,756 votes—"   
  
_that can't be me_ , seongwoo thinks, _that's a hundred thousand votes too many._

"fantagio's trainee, ong seongwoo!"  
  
his gasp is automatic, his surprise genuine, his eyes as wide as the o his mouth mimics. seongwoo raises his hands to the heavens and breathes, soundlessly, for the first time in three hours. the other trainees get out of their positions to congratulate him, with pats to the back and tight hugs, and he almost trips down the stage to the bottom of the pyramid, his grin spread from ear to ear.   
  
he forgets half of his speech in his glee, only remembering his megawatt smile as he thanks the national producers for putting their trust in his abilities. with a final bow to the clapping audience, seongwoo runs up the royal blue platform to be welcomed by hugs from his future group members. minhyun waits at the other end of the divider once seongwoo frees himself from jinyoung's grasp, and he pauses, only for a moment, before finally letting himself melt in minhyun's embrace.   
  
"we did it!" he cries, ecstatic, tiptoing and pulling to bring their bodies ever closer. "we're debuting together!"  
  
"i know," minhyun hums, his voice a few volumes above a whisper, his arms tight against seongwoo's back. " _finally._ "   
  
seongwoo blinks, confused at the implication, but jisung has already pulled him into another embrace before he could even ask. 

 

* * *

 

the roster has been completed, and they have all filed backstage to meet their parents or greet their fellow trainees. seongwoo loses any chance to question minhyun about his choice of words, as no one else from the boy's team have made it to the roster, and it came as a devastating blow. minhyun was sobbing his eyes out when seongwoo last caught glimpse of him, and worry replaces any sort of curiosity he had felt, the sad vision effectively dampening even the hope of possible recognition.   
  
it's one word, seven letters, and it stays at the back of his mind and the tip of his tongue as producers pull him aside for a final interview. 

 

* * *

  

they hold their celebration until two days after, a couple of members choosing to spend the rest day after shooting with their families or their teams. the party was held once they've settled in the dorms, the beer cans and soju bottles emerging from their well disguised boxes once the cameras have been turned off. it all lasts until the wee hours of the morning, the older ones growing rowdier with the alcohol even after the kids have been put to sleep.  
  
seongwoo chooses to stay sober, knowing too well that minhyun would, as his lack of alcohol tolerance is a quirk that transcends every lifetime. he waits until the last of the members retreat to their selected rooms, and assists a tipsy daniel in putting a moderately drunk jisung to bed. he escapes before he gets asked for goodnight kisses, at least, and he settles in the living room's comfortable silence, taking in a few minutes of rest before deciding to begin the after-party clean-up.  
  
"you're still awake?"  
  
he almost gets whiplash from the sudden voice, but he relaxes once he sees that it is minhyun who emerges from the kitchen. seongwoo quickly runs to help him carry the soju bottles to the disposal. then, they make quick work of removing any evidence of a rowdy party from the loft's receiving area, their time spent in pleasant wordlessness save for a few cheeky quips of "you missed a spot" here and there.   
  
"that's all of it," seongwoo is back to his habit of breaking the silence, his eyesmile ever-cheery despite the fatigue he felt in his bones. "i guess we're done here, huh?"  
  
minhyun stares at him with his head lilted to that forty-five degree angle, and sungwoo gulps as he waits for the tall man to speak. "hm, _not quite_."   
  
it all happens too quickly. minhyun takes hold of his hand and pulls him towards the dorm's external balcony, ignoring all of his protests that a bunch of crazy fans may be camping out for some otherworldly reason. seongwoo's ears turn red at the sudden contact, and his blush deepens as he watches his minhyun lean on the cement railing, his delicate features illuminated by the moonlight as he gazes up at the stars. seongwoo stays close to the door, admiring the beauty, but he shifts his attention to the constellations that dot the blanket of navy up above, a sense of nostalgia hitting his heartstrings at the ever familiar sight.   
  
_the night sky is dark, but it glimmers with the brightest of stars._  
  
"it was a night like _this_ , right?" minhyun opens, his dark hues still trained on the celestial formations, and seongwoo does a double take to make sure he heard right.   
  
"what was?" he parries, choosing to play innocent, but he's only met with a solemn giggle from the taller man.   
  
"don't play _coy,_ seongwoo," this time, minhyun's eyes are on him, and seongwoo tries his hardest not to assume that the glimmer in those pools are something akin to recognition. "it was just like this. when i made you promise to look for me in every lifetime we had."   
  
seongwoo blinks, then gapes, before going on to a full-blown stare.   
  
"y-you..." he stutters, finding himself unable to properly breathe. "you _remember_?"   
  
"mhm," minhyun nods, his solemn look a stark contrast to seongwoo's panicked visage. "i've missed you."   
  
it takes three seconds for the tears to run from seongwoo's cheek, two seconds for minhyun to pull his body flush against him, and one second for their lips to collide in an all-affirming kiss. seongwoo fails to halt his sobs even as minhyun kissed his cries from his mouth, his heart bursting with every jilted emotion he has felt in the centuries past.  
  
but none of it matters now—the pain he endured from all the lifetimes where he is forgotten swiftly disappears with minhyun's gentle touch.   
  
"finally," minhyun mutters, chasing the last of seongwoo's tears with a tender peck. "you found me, seongwoo." 

**Author's Note:**

> this entire fic is literally "i am so sorry seongwoo" but am i really


End file.
